"sitcom" poems
For centuries philosophers have speculated the role sleep plays in society
But it was not until the 1950s that sleep woke up in academia
And today sleep studies show what dormant minds really look like
Information about our rest we've never seen before
However, I've always understood the importance of bedtime
You see my parents taught me that sleep and love are soul mates
My mom
She's the sleeper
She loves to sleep
She cuddles up on any piece of furniture in my house and snoozes for hours
Never views a sitcom past the first commercial break when she's tired
And she's okay with that
Dad never lets her drive on road trips when night falls
Preferring his sleeping beauty tucked safely in the passenger seat
Their hands meet as she lets the stars serenade her to slumber
While he anchors his left hand on the steering wheel
Thanking his lucky stars for his real life princess
My dad
He's the snorer
He loves to snore
He roars like a lion on his love seat and naps for hours
Never views a sitcom past the second commercial break when he's tired
And he's okay with that
Mom never lets him sleep alone too long though
Keeping his nose plugged strong enough to signal for bedtime
They both stand together as he lets her guide him to slumber
While she ushers her left hand around his back
Thanking her lucky stars for her own prince charming
Now my parents call me the dreamer
And I sure do love to dream
It seems my parents are textbook role models for me
Because when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Your reality becomes an endless stream of fantasies
Your expectations are exceptionally out of context
Strictly written for poetic lines in picture books
Never meant to be held
Never meant to be felt
Only meant for spines stuck on rosewood shelves
My parents call me the dreamer
And boy I love to dream
I believe in creating the unthinkable
And when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Nothing is fictional
You picture a life with storybook endings
Praying the author never runs out of ink
You crown each syllable the king of the moment
Treating each page like royalty
And I've always been okay with that
So when I asked my mom when she knew she fell in love
She spoke of an instant of unadulterated emotion
She said she knew instantly
She didn't need to sleep on it
When I asked my dad when he knew he fell in love
He just smiled back at me
He must have known instantly
He didn't even speak on it
So when I ask myself when I might fall in love
I can't help but smile
Think of fairytale titles
Mile wide love notes in all shapes and styles
And a moment where my reality sets my hopes on fire
And I won't need to dream about it anymore
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
On a good day, the Sun shines on you.
You are in a Disney movie, stretching your arms,
As the first light of day hits your toes.
And all the sores of the previous nights,
Reduced as mere soap suds down the drain.
Last night's shower is a preview of the first one today, and coffee smells like the freshest brew straight from a pre-packed foil. Nothing beats the thrill of a morning cup.
Life is a sitcom, waiting for the supporting characters to show up and raid your ref, and then! The punchline.
You plan your day.
You invite a good day.
You laugh out loud.
On your best day, you lounge.
You drink your cup and eat breakfast straight from the pan, and the pan loves you for calling the kettle black.
You write your notes on some discarded tissue previously used to wipe off dust.
You are free versing with the staunchest disregard for tones and rules of archaic poetry; sometimes, disavowing a semblance of order.
Because the best is you.
It is now.
And you are but a small supporting character,
Patiently waiting for the chime of the next five punchlines
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
American Democracy
is setting a trend:
American Democracy
is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show
of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths
tricking and manipulating the Public
via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry
into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny
when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you
because the burden of Choice is far too stressful
for the Moderner without proper medication,
and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking,
some sort of re-edification
which is far too much for us to handle
in this socially sanctioned doped-up state
and with such an intentionally failing Education system
from K through 12 and beyond.
With American Democracy,
We have a grand Illusion of Choice.
It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True.
(Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!)
For American Democracy,
They don't want mass Education.
They don't want mass Edification.
They don't want Critical Thinking;
Those things prevent a Control by few.
In American Democracy,
They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights,
They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself
They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more
They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself
and chain us to a system that benefits only a few
while destroying everything else,
like Climate and Environment.
These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real:
They tempt us with the things we don't need,
filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears,
and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education,
all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us.
This System of American Democracy
has degraded into a corrupted fractal
of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror:
Aristocracy, Plutocracy,
Patriarchy, Oligarchy,
Kleptocracy, Demagoguery,
Bankocracy, Corporatocracy,
Fascism;
Tell me,
What is the ******* difference?
I mean,
even Adolf ****** was elected democratically
under the pretense of "Change"
then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely
after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933,
(for which the Nazis blamed the communists.)
under the pretense of "Security":
Demagoguery runs Amok
Among disedified Minds.
They say "Freedom" and "Democracy"
as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
I decided to be nostalgic
And flip on the Fresh Prince.
The "gentle" comedy cheers me up,
But then again, laughter is infectious.
I'm on a marathon now
With this show on reruns.
Watching every episode
Until one...
You watch a sitcom and expect
To chuckle and cackle along with the audience.
You expect your heart to be lifted
Out of whatever darker place you've been.
You don't expect it to hit so close to home
That your throat closes up
And your lungs burn with the need to breathe
But you can't
Because suddenly where there was the sound
Of deep throated guffaws,
Of bellyaching mirth,
Is only uncontrollable weeping and sobs
You never knew a sitcom could draw.
Will: I didn't need him then, I don't need him now.
Philip: Will...
*Will: No, you know what, Uncle Phil? I'ma get through college without him, I'ma get a great job without him, I'ma marry me a beautiful honey, and I'ma have me a whole bunch of kids. I'ma be a better father than he ever was, and I sure as hell don't need him for that, 'cause there ain't a **** thing he could ever teach me about how to love my kids!*
[long pause]
Will: [breaks down] How come he don't want me, man?
That echo in my soul:
How come she don't want me, man?
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
I was once God's Picasso painting
(the Guernica era).
Chuck Jones' illustration
of the tortured artist,
laid out like Wile E. Coyote
on a bed of scalding rocks
and a white flag screaming "SURRENDER"
clenched with both palms.
If it were feasible,
I'd have dove head first
into the smoky center of the sun
if it meant my audience understood
the shrieking woes I had to bellow through
to reach their overwhelmed palates.
But Tragedy is the sitcom foil
that has long outstayed its menopausal welcome,
and I would much prefer a haunting.
To Hell with those
who repulse the flies with
the vinegar of exploitation,
gawking as their spit seeps
through seven layers of collected scars,
who ventilate the wrists
to keep the audience comfortable.
Real aesthetic power
comes from a shower
of light hail on the spine,
the moments a ghostly hand
****** you on the finger
with quietly hidden truths
always whispered from a field away.
It's far more bracing,
the lump in the throat,
not the electrical gasp of shock.
It's a far greater sign
of a forthcoming apocalypse,
the angel weeping in pain,
not the footsteps
of the wailing banshee.
The wisp
over the wallop.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
You don't love
me;
you love the
tip of the iceberg
that is your idea of me;
the sugar-coated mute
leading herds
of unfinished sentences
down the copious hills
of his insecurity;
the nice little writer
whose constant attempts
at legendary one-liners
are as hit-or-miss
as a sitcom still airing
far past its prime.
I possess three biomes,
or, rather, three networks
of personalities and identities.
I am much more than
the Jack Macfarland archetype
lip-syncing to Cher in the one
gay bar in town, tyrannically
governing your wardrobe,
possessing a razor-sharp wit
cast toward the backs of his community
in the form of an outdated punchline-
my work on that show
lost its Willful relevance
and Graceful naivete
years ago.
I am of the generation
fed media saturation
three four-hour meals a day,
who ingested cardboard cadavers
as if they were mother's milk
and internally mutated their
thoughts and desires
to fit the compact time frame
of 30 minutes
to settle the series' worth
of traumas and neuroses
while making it home for dinner
to stay tuned for what's
next in the lineup.
Speaking as a casualty of this
inevitable chain of events,
I regretfully declare that even
those who have seen
every episode of myself
for the past six seasons
are still light years away
from the room full of faces
unencumbered by euphemism.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
Those couples on TV
That never look like they would be together
End up being together season after season
Laughing and crying
Loving and loopy
Late nights and early mornings
Sarcasm and seriousness
Give a helping hand when it's needed
Look back laughing about the times they messed up
But never letting it hurt what really matters.
That's my life.
That's my long distance sitcom
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.
She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh
But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.
And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
I wonder if my late night plays
Will ever be relayed
To a generation that is slayed
In my play every black home
Has two stories, a fence
and a dad that won’t roam
Their cars ain’t all chrome
No bars on the windows
No grandmas saying lord knows
When cops shows
There are more colors than grey
No dope boys on the corner cliche
Or dogs on chains barking to get away
The colors blue and red stand for a flag
The black youth aren’t in a body bag
And pants never sag
Black men aren’t scary and mean
The system isn’t their adversary or
The silver screen
They don’t fill cemeteries nor chase
The color green
Black women have a name
Not ***** or **** used as shame
No fakes buts for their fame
The son has more hope
Then shooting a ball and ****** bout dope
He aspires to use a stethoscope
The daughter is strong and free
She can either write a song or get a PhD
Her future is whatever she wants it to be
Their ain’t thugs on tv our color
Not every sitcom has one strong black single mother
Or get drunk and fight one another
Gun violence is a joke
the police don’t chock our folk
Our music don’t promote drug use
And Gucci don’t ******
Drivebys are now hi’s
Every family is woke and wise
It’s sad to know
That this world won’t ever exist
Because the world outside
Is to nightmarish
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
'All nature seems at work ... The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing ... and I the while, the sole unbusy thing, not honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.'
My fingers can’t trace the origin of the age old euphemism
Its roots planted firmly in childhood paired with sitcom cliches
A conversation never had with my mother
I learned the moment he touched me
My mind buzzed as the sweetest nectar kissed my lips
Arms turned to wings and we flew away
The age of fourteen
A baby learning where babies come from
Innocence poured out like an overfilled glass of milk
When he left I was a hummingbird
Heart at 1260 beats per minute
Fading in and out of anxiety
He was the bee
Flew to the next delicate flower
and ****** her dry like a parasitic insect
Always told to be weary of disguised villains
Old women with apples
Wolves dressed like grandmothers
Never of the natural behavior of pollination
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
Yours Truly
Loving You Avenue
Kissime, Missmeana
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Dear Love of my Life,
You do not know me yet but, I am the love of your life and you are mine. Try not to over look me if we ever meet. Pick me out the crowd of beautiful women you see from where ever we meet, whether it be in public, private, or through a computer screen. Oh yea, and try your best to judge me by my personality. Look past the color of my skin for it may interfere with your better judgement of me. For all you know I could be white, purple, or mahogany. Once, we are together theres somethings you should remember. One is that I won’t completely hate you if you forget our anniversary. I’ll only pretend to so we can feel like a sitcom family. Second, my favorite flower is the lotus but I’ll settle for roses as long as they are never red, I prefer white or black instead.Third, don’t be what you think I expect you to be because I really love spontaneity. So don’t be surprised if for vacation I’d like to go skydiving, bungee jumping, or skiing. By the way I have of list of things I’d like to do before I died and those activities are numbers one, two, and three. Promise to never lie to me unless you are trying to protect me. Yes, I know honesty's the best policy but a little white lie never hurt anybody. I hate to be told what to do unless of course it is by you. So I guess I’ll be fair and not give you too many rules. This last one is a request of you for me, Spontaneously tell me you love me.
Sincerely yours,
The Love of your Life
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC
Dear Science and Math,
I pray to you because you are what I believe in. Today is the midterm elections for 2018, and boy are we in a mess. Evolution, I would like to apologize that we have devolved as a society to allow our government to function as a really terrible sitcom. Economics and Statistics, I feel your heavy gaze as we still have 2 more years before we hopefully take the bankrupt millionaire out of office. Every day we live under a system whose poster child mocks its citizens and strips the majority of their rights. Their rights to Medical Care, a healthy and functioning Environment, and a Financial System which can support the majority, not just the top 1%.
Today I did my part. I practiced my right . . . no my privilege to vote. Too many people chose not to vote. I didn't vote for the last 6 year because I felt I was uneducated in the topic. I felt I was flying blind, something I could have taken 15 minutes to change. If I were a citizen of Georgia I would have lost this privilege, because of 5 years of voting inactivity. If I were of Hispanic descent I would most likely have had to jump through excessive hoops because of a hyphenated last name. There are so many people who don't want to vote because they fear jury duty, or they don't want to wait in line, or they don't want to make time to vote, or they are just plain convinced the system is rigged and their opinion doesn't matter. Let me tell you something, your ballot only "doesn't matter" if you don't hand one in. In fact, it is probably working against the team you would have voted for.
I am a woman, which mean only in the past 100 years was my second X chromosome "granted" this privilege. There are still grandparents alive today who remember when, specifically, black people could not vote. There are also plenty of other cases of this "right" being restricted from huge groups of people because of, in reality, what makes them unique.
So, I sit here today Science an Math, praying to you that my little corner of the United States may become a better place for ALL of its inhabitants.
Please let the scales tip in the favor of justice.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
You'll always be my favorite kind of film. The sitcom without the laugh tracks or a romance without the actors. The kind of irony that could make me laugh till it hurt. The way I went from pining for you to vivisecting you against the metal of a surgical table, because maybe if I cracked open that soft, stupid flesh I'd finally be able to understand why. How you unspool me, all these years between us but you're still the only boy that's ever made me cry without hitting me first. Mum says she liked me better before I got off the pills. Honestly, I only cut them up once they're dead mother, we all have our hobbies. I used to rewrite scene after scene of the woulda-coulda-shoulda's of our script and hide them from you. I used to be a lot of things. Don't we all miss me on pills.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 7:04 AM UTC
You were a talented British actor but sadly, not anymore.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned ninety-four.
You starred in an episode of "Fawlty Towers" and "Dalziel and Pascoe".
Forty-four years ago, you starred in "The Adventures Of Picasso".
You starred in an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine".
You starred in an episode of "Mogul" and "Space: 1999".
You starred in a short lived British sitcom titled "Cuffy".
After living a long life, you died at the age of ninety-three.
When you starred in Fawlty Towers, you beat up John Cleese.
Today would have been your birthday, may you Rest In Peace.
Dec 29, 2022
Dec 29, 2022 at 12:13 PM UTC
It was easy,
The clumps and locks
Hit the floor
Like footfalls,
I stood behind you.
It had been two
Years almost to the day
Since you had stopped
Using shampoo,
And your hair was
The softest I'd ever felt.
The shrimp baking
In the oven
Overwhelmed the gentle
Scent of apple cider vinegar
I've grown accustomed to,
Snug behind you,
My nose near your scalp,
Falling asleep.
The night you let me
Cut your hair,
We fell asleep on the couch,
Watching reruns of an
Irrelevant sitcom,
And I awoke after you
Had already gone off
To work.
I rode past a cop
In shorts
On a bike
At Maryland & 9th
On my way to the office,
And he turned to ride
Behind me,
Pulling alongside
Me at Maryland & 8th.
"I just want to say thanks,
For stopping at red lights.
We're out here all the time,
And they see us go through
The lights, and
Think they can too."
"Yea, no problem.
Not trying to
Get my head knocked off."
"You tryin to be funny?"
"No, I said I'm not
Trying to get my
Head knocked off."
"Yea, I heard you,
I'm not stupid."
"I can see that.
You stopped at this red
Light, after all."
"Watch it, or
I'LL knock your
****** head off."
The light changed,
And I set off.
"Yea, get out of here,
Before I decide not
To let you."
Do you remember
How I came home?
Torn pants,
Torn shirt,
Torn skin,
Dragging my mangled
Steel frame
Up the stairs to our apartment?
You ran to me,
Dropped your plate
Of rice and beans all over
The brand new slip cover,
And grabbed my face,
Wetting your hands with my blood.
You got towels,
Got a chair,
Sat me in it,
Stood behind me,
And washed the grit
From my wounds.
My hair fell
Like raindrops
As you cut away
From the injury site.
The feel of your sewing needle
And nylon thread
Passing through
My thin, inflamed skin
Blackened my sight,
And I slipped away from consciousness.
Well,
I couldn't tell you then,
But I've never loved
You more.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
If morning was
too brief to trim
those pine tree prickles
off of your lower limbs, it's okay.
Step 1: ***** hose.
After a mirror's
glance, you will be tempted to panic.
Step 2: Stay calm. Peel
the dead animal
off the side of your cheek.
Let the hairbrush
paste the fly-aways
into a hot, greased bun.
How easy it is
to experience a wardrobe malfunction.
Remember to keep it simple.
Step 3: Slip on
that black pencil skirt,
the polyester one--not
the leather.
No one needs to know
that you were up late
watching sitcom reruns. Remove
the screaming purple rings.
Step 4: make-up. Base
is your friend.
You are now prepared.
Smear on
your finest ruby red
lips, and tuck in
your leopard-print
bra strap.
Step 5: Strut your
stuff. Retail has never seen
such class.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
My head is ticking like a time bomb.
I rub the back of my hand with my cold sweaty palm.
Silently whimpering, in pain, for my mom,
I kindly ask her to bring a canola oil embalm.
As I rub the embalm at the time bomb,
I can hear a gentle soft psalm.
My life fades away as if it were nothing more than a sitcom.
I perceive my conscious escaping me, but I surprisingly feel calm.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
Lucifer just said I'm two-faced;
But the reality is I wear many faces
Each one a mask
Picking a bouquet of oopsie-daises
Unabashedly lashing out at you
I eviscerate; wielding a scalpel
Then I pounce; scalped him,
Pelt dangling from my ***** pack
**Went Kerouac on ***** ***
Surprise, surprise
Palpable attack
Thumbing tacks into your eyes
Lame as a bad sitcom
Band-wagon careening off the laugh-track
Everybody loves disarray
**** Vamoose!
Underlying interloper
Feel the allusion in high resolution;
Little tike on the *****
Anne frankly I'm that Führer fomenting furor
Have you lost your marbles?
Inaudibly garbling warbled garbage
Mauled to death
**I **** narwhals**
Convoluted revolution
I revel in it
Elusive illusion
Testify, I bring the excellence in electrocution
I'm the executioner
Putting the fun in funeral
Like a neurotic necrotizing narcotic
A lobotomy to the temporal
I dreamt the demented torment of descent
Cascading like a torrential waterfall
Ghoulish delight
Primeval upheavaler
With hopes to elope, many fold
Mic bold, but I suspect she's hitting the slopes;
Ice cold
Evoking emotion but a hopeless show
marionette in a stranglehold
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
i am a product
of this
society
i pick-pocketed
my personality
from a ghastly array
of tv shows
and teenaged drama
if you would like a re-run
of last night's
late night
sitcom
i'm at your service
i am a product
of this
society
if you want some fashion advice
from me
because i dress
so well
log on to
pinterest
they'll tell you
exactly
what i would
because everything i wear
no matter how weird
or ugly
i wear because
they told me
to
i am a product
of this
society
i do not
think for me
i have an iphone
that has replaced
the normal functions
of my brain
it remembers everything
for me
i know everyone
we talk
all the time
i text
really fast
i'm so connected
i mean,
i'm plugged into
everything...
i am a product
of this society
my thighs
don't touch
and a lovely
mountain ridge
adorns
my back
a cavern
in my
belly
come explore
me
a beautiful
bony
product
of this
society
I AM A PRODUCT OF THIS SOCIETY
and you all should really stop blaming me
for being a social deviant
for being unwilling
to conform
to this new normal
sanity isn't
statistical
and this isn't
1984
meaning:
just because a billion people
do this ****
it doesn't make it
right
doesn't make it
make
sense
i will not hold onto your tail
and follow you
blindly,
society
because you don't know
where the ****
you're going
anyway
if we progress
one more step
we'll all be
dead
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
Andy Griffith found success when he starred in "The Andy Griffith Show".
That sitcom is still popular today and it was created over sixty years ago.
It was one decade ago today when Andy Griffith took his final breath.
Andy didn't have a funeral, he was buried immediately after his death.
He starred in "Matlock" from 1986 to 1995.
Andy would be ninety-six if he had survived.
Ten years ago today, a famous man died.
Andy had Charisma and talent and that can't be denied.
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 10:55 AM UTC
The tea cup clouds were reason enough.
Reeling, the clock hands spun on an axis wobble
noon flirted with night
and I broke into a run
as the sky opened its maw
and screamed.
Even the suits scramble for burrows.
Retrospection always has a punchline.
Hide away, slide away
Stop looking at my ******* please.
Now watch wide-eyed behind
public glass, with a
sitcom gang of affable protagonists
who are now late for their respective chapters
Staring at their phones, willing the weather
forecast to telepathically change.
The light strobes, the bricks quiver sympathetically
and I riddle a fourteen year old pantheon
as they sway, as they jaunt
ankle deep in charged water
daring each other and daring the sky
daring the noise with headphones still around necks
like defiant plastic boas
Clothes plastered, mouths open, rain-drunk
feeling **** revealing secret intimate shapes,
feeling sheepishly exposed next
to crushes who will kiss them at the next movie.
I am aware of each nerve as I drip and shiver
I'm terrified of storms, my reasons are mine
but even this fear
can cat-stroke my skin
hyper-sensitized, electric
and make me feel
**** too.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Journey to a far off land,
Forget about events transpired
Stare into the bright lit tube
Powered through its wires
Click the switch, surf the waves
Before deciding on a channel
That allows you to open up your mind
Never more than you can handle
Relax
Grab a snack
Sit there in your underwear for all I
care
Ponder life's mystique
Let your worries drip away
With your drivel as you sleep
Covet every moment
Every sitcom and commercial
No matter how risqué
Or otherwise controversial
Laugh until your hearts content
Clap when the audiences cheer
That you should become part of the culture
Surrounded by your peers
Cry with every parting
Of favorite characters parts portrayed
The actors most relatable
The true "stars" of the trade
For tomorrow is another day
To face the daily grind
No fast forwarding through the days events
Or pausing, until quitting time
Set the DVR, to view at some other time
Shut your eyes and get some rest
Or Netflix and chill and hit rewind
Play back every missed detail
You somehow overlooked
Or better yet, hit the on/off switch
And open up a book.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
I scrape my forearms as if the hand you have clasped around my wrist is a lion’s jaw.
I don’t do well under social pressures
And I would love nothing more than to lend you my underwear and tell you about my dreams
But my modesty is a jealous ***** and will have none of that
So instead, I put my feet on your lap and touch behind my ears
Positioning them like satellites, prepared to receive any data you let into the atmosphere
I tell you about the boy I loved in high school, you tell me about the book you’re reading
I dress you up to be John Keats
With words of romance swimming through your veins
From your eyes to your hands
The prose you conjure make my eyelashes sweep against my upper cheek
With ***** in your blood and the night still young,
You have the ability to write me a novel crafted out of the moments that have crept through your fingers
I grasp at your memories as if they were butterflies,
Careful not to touch the wings, so that their beauty might be seen by someone else
I sit and watch as your face becomes a sitcom
With all the laughs and pains that a script can hold
I look for places where I might make notes in the margins, trying to make you more cohesive
I glue a penny to my forehead
Face up
In hopes that someone will take it from its place
Looking for the bit of luck it holds and instead grab my hand.
My stomach clenches in knots
Craving an understanding of the words you mumble into your coffee
My toes massage the soles of my shoes
Looking for a foot hold in the song I’m humming
But instead I breathe on my tea and dwell on the kiss we shared in the basement
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 2:16 PM UTC
I come down from this ***** high finally,
This ****** lifestyle that I've been living,
This life is a **** hole, barely making ends meet, crazy people ******* like dialog in a tv sitcom. Oh its soo ****** Just like the girl laying ***** soaked in my bed right now. Life is beautifully painted with sin and good intentions. In the morning I wont even address her by name, fact is I dont know it, shes a victim in my ego boost trap like the girl 45 mins before her was... Strange I dont get caught by now, guess my luck will stay till karma hits me, karma being the stripper I stole the money from out of sluttly skirt, I didnt need the money but the rush I was getting from *** just isnt doing it for me anymore. I need a new high...
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
I picked up the pieces of my shattered heart
and put them into my jar of fireflies.
Only way now to keep my heart-spark alive
To live healthy in the glow
I've left the lid open
Living with the fear that this light might leave me
I have to remind myself some days that dust still rises
So I walk like an oil well to keep your memory alive
I watched them bury you
and realised my biggest fear come true
Heaven can't be real
And coffins only trap our dead
I need to let you go
When I die I want to be naked
wet
and covered in seeds
Heaven is the transfer of energy
into new life
I don't wanna be a goddamm tombstone garden
I wanna be a real garden
With ******* roses
and lillies
And weeds
Weeds are hard to ****
Make me something strong again
Give me a reason to keep on going
Help me kick my own dust
I wanna make life
even after my life
and
I want you back
I want you back
Because I miss you so much some days
I drive sixty in suburban neighborhoods
Prayin the fire finaly takes me
and
I can't do it
I know I will wake up in the morning
and you still won't be here
Sent you an e-mail the other day but purposely got the address wrong
I just wanted your name in my inbox
Someone already has your cell phone number
I called them and cried
because when they answered
they sounded exactly like you
They've asked me to stop texting
Saying I have the wrong number
Did you know all the people on tv sitcom laughtracks are dead?
It is ghosts reminding us to laugh
Remind my smile
Remind my dust
Remind my firefly glow
To get bigger
Remind me that you're not really gone
Not gone gone
Even if you're just plant food
It means something
It's why grass itches your bare skin
Reminds you it's alive
I don't want to itch like your nightmares anymore
Just know
I am picking up the pieces as best I can
And I ******* miss you
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC